Sometimes you just can't

Or can you?

If we could get the full experience here - there would be no reason to go.

Sometimes no matter how many ideas you apply to your life for “French Inspired Living” it’s an exercise in futility. It’s not as though you’ll reach the end of some ‘French ideas list’ and POOF - life here will be just like life there. Some things the French invibe are impossible to completely implement here. They simply don’t translate.

I feel that nowhere as when I’m standing in front of my fridge.

-le sigh-

5 rue de la Bucherie - the address of my 15 m² apartment (‘m²’ meaning meters squared - equalling about 150 square feet here in the States)… Before setting out on the motherhood adventure portion of my life I rented an apartment in Paris for six weeks. Alone. A perceivably odd choice for a married woman, but the right one for me. I married young and went right from my parent’s home to my married home. An idea that, through the lens of (my hero) Laura Ingalls looks good on paper (nothing as romantic and precious as the handoff from Pa to Almanzo), but if my girls want to go get some time alone under their belt before they get married, I’ll think that’s a great idea for them.

I did not get that time alone and simply felt I needed a little pause in life before entering my motherhood chapter, and what better place to take one than Paris? (Turns out, I earned it, having gone on to have six children in twelve years.)

But 5 rue de la Bucherie was just a few blocks from the Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday Maubert-Mutualité market. This mixed market, which sells fish, cheese, olives, produce, knickknacks, linens, flowers and some times even has music is where I did most of my shopping. Of course, there was also a little Franprix nearby.

I would buy frizzy frizée, herb and oil-covered olives, big, perfect raspberries, or belgiun endive and take it all back to my tiny dorm room-sized fridge. Of course, I always bought a bouquet of flowers, too.

A trip to the Maubert-Mutualité market, a few yogurts from the Franpix, and a baguette from the boulangerie and I could eat for days. Nothing going to waste, nothing overpriced, nothing rotten by the time I got it home, nothing poisonous. And by the time I needed more, they’d be setting up the market again and I’d head out.

Those Spring 2004 memories are a lifetime away from how I feed my people today. It’s not a stroll up the hill to a colorful market; Pantheon peeking out over the slate rooftops - instead, it’s an uninspiring, dreary battle. The only thing peeking is my patience. And if sitting down to a beautiful meal is a climax then my food acquisitions are… how shall I say this… sans foreplay.

-le double sigh'-

Here in Northern Wisconsin, we have… drumroll… The Pig.

You probably don’t have a Pig. Lucky you. If you do - well, I don’t know about your Piggly Wiggly, but mine is an abomination. It’s where you go to shop if you have a death wish. The shelves are lined with unedible ‘food’, the coolers packed with wax posing as cheese, the meat shelves full of factory-farmed ‘meat’, and the ‘produce’? How do you say - lacking au français? And insult to colon injury? - it’s is out-RAG-iously overpriced - to the tune of over seven dollars for a tub of whole milk Greek yogurt - and it’s not even a quart, and it’s not even organic. Try to shop chemical-free and healthy while you’re there? Bonne chance. You’ll have to take a pass on 99% of the store and prepare to pay over $30 for the four items in your cart.

You: Golly Ang - feeling negative this morning?

Me: Perhaps - it’s minus 14 outside.

You: But these are ‘first-world’ problems.

Me: …

So, in response - I load up the gas tank and drive 1.5 hours south to Green Bay. And this is no sexy shopping experience either. This is as utilitarian and unglam as it gets. No engaging interaction with the fishmonger. No banter over a stinky, fabulous, oozing fresh cheese. From Costco to Woodman’s and from Woodman’s to the olive oil shop, then to the Target parking lot to stand in line behind the co-op semi that pulls up once a month… three hours of round trip driving, not to mention all the hours spent shopping. It’s a nine-hour ordeal every time.

It’s not sexy, it’s not fun, and it’s NOT French.

See, there’s no way around this one for me. I’ve got six kids, a Paris apartment-sized fridge will never do. There’s no possible way to replicate the French “buy-just-what-you-need-for-the-next-couple-of-days” approach. It’s Siberia here half the here so farmer’s markets and my garden’s supply will never do. To find organic meats that aren’t price gouged by our tourist economy is impossible, so I order from Tennessee if we haven’t raised it ourselves. To find organic, affordable produce of any variety I have to travel so far that I can only go every three to four weeks. yep - There’s no way I can do what the French reportedly do and simply buy what I need for the next couple of days.

Sure, I can fridgescape, I can get creative with my menu, I can cook all the French food I want but the attainment of the food will always be a chore I dread.

So maybe this part of French-inspired living isn’t something I can fully capture here.

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe instead of chasing an impossible replica, the goal is to infuse moments of that French way of life into this Northern Wisconsin reality.

What’s a girl to do?

Adapt and overcome.

Things here will never be the same as they are there. Again, if they were, we wouldn’t need to be francophiles, would we? We’d never need to go. But I can embrace the spirit of the French when it comes to getting my groceries, even if I can’t get them like the French.

So, I have to find beauty in the small things. I know that sounds cliché. If I can’t find them in the moment of shopping then I can find them in the result; a well-stocked pantry, a bouquet from Costco, a podcast polished off during the long drive. Or the simple act of pouring a glass of wine after a long, brutal grocery run, reclaiming a tiny piece of that Parisian ease.

So I do just that.

I seek out places along the way and specialty shops. I’ve found a local farmer who sells meat and produce varieties that I don’t grow in my garden.

I found an olive oil shop stocked with vinegars, oils, and pasta from Italy.

I grab a bouquet of fresh flowers as I stand in the long line at Costco (a reminder to myself that I’m almost out of the building!)

I bring my shopping bags to Woodman’s (when I remember). It makes me smile to see all my Monoprix bags stacked in my shopping cart as it rumbles through the parking lot.

I buy sushi from Woodman’s for dinner on grocery day. I come home exhausted, not wanting to cook and the sushi is a massive treat for my family and me.

And for some serious juxtaposition - I take my Grand Épicerie de Paris shopping bag to the Pig when I need a few items locally.

When I get home from my massive grocery day I pour myself a glass of wine and stand in the cooler* putting everything away beautifully (wicker baskets for the win). I line up the glass bottles of maple syrup, I put fresh cilantro and parsley in ball jars like little herbal bouquets, and arrange the cheeses in the big plastic cheese bin just so they ‘look cool’ like a little cheese shop. If I can’t feel inspired while I’m shopping then I go above and beyond to make sure I’m inspired when when I walk in to gather ingredients for a recipe.

• (Side note: We don’t have a fridge in our French country kitchen. We have a homemade walk-in cooler in the garage.)

For more fun, I usually treat us to something we really don’t need whether it’s a pack of ladyfingers for the dessert-making stash or an extra nice quality box of arborio rice for risotto night.

Reality for the win

And… I am a grown-up. I know that not everything in France is picture-perfect. I may have special memories of the Maubert-Mutualité market, but I’ve also slogged through the Monoprix for mid-level food and stood in a long line only to have to interact with a scowl-faced clerk at the Franprix.

Still, nothing beats bringing an onion home from the Pig only to find it rotten in the center.

-Visit beautiful Door County in Northern Wisconsin, home of $5 wilted romaine lettuce 3 pack! -

In search of a beautiful, French-inspired life? Remember, in some cases it’s not the journey (like 3 hours round trip for groceries), it’s the destination - that beautiful meal when it’s all said and done.———

I’ve put together a big list covering all the ways to bring a little joie de vivre to your weekly haul & today’s voice over, and you can access them by becoming a paid Substack subscriber! Just click the green button below my signature, and I’ll keep bringing you real stories from France, voiceovers so you can listen—along with my best ideas for applying French-inspired living to your American life. You’ll have access the full archives too. Merci et à bientôt! 🇫🇷✨